my soft-skinned angel
My soft-skinned angelFlying above me in the clouds
Her presence is a mystery to me
As she watches me live
Flying above me in the clouds
She is all alone
As she watches me live
Without her
She is all alone
Up in those white clouds
Without her
Her memory fades from our minds
Up in those white clouds
Her presence is a mystery to me
Her memory fades from our minds
My soft-skinned angel
bklynrizz commented on my soft-skinned angel
11-24-2009
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
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